FindingtheLight

FindingtheLight

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An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Finding the Light

ISBN # 1-4199-0868-5

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Finding the Light Copyright© 2006 Liddy Midnight

Edited by Briana St. James.

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication: December 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory:

                                                  S – ENSUOUS

                                                  E – ROTIC

                                                  X - TREME

Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic.

S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated
titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline
execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

Finding the Light

Liddy Midnight

Prologue

“You know nothing of female magick, Moran!” Beatrice sneered. “You mage hunters are all alike, seeking to destroy what you do not understand.” As graceful as a cat, she strode back and forth on the crushed stones before her manor. She was the most powerful mage he had faced. The spell that gave her beauty never wavered—she maintained the illusion even while she cast a series of crackling balls of black fire at him in a blur.

Moran stood his ground, holding a large bowl-shaped shield of magick before him. Her attack spattered on the surface and dripped onto the ground. Burned patches marred the snow around each of them. ‘Twas not her first attempt to kill him; she struck first, and he had answered her blow for blow.

He squinted into the sun. “I understand that the darkness has overtaken your will.” Knowing that she was determined to destroy him, he still tried to reason with her. “You were once like me, a servant of the light.”

“Never like you,” she laughed derisively. “You forget that Her consort must die each year, feeding the earth with his blood, while the Goddess is eternal. As a woman, I am made in Her image and thus I am eternal!”

Without even a pause to gather her strength, she shoved both hands toward him. A blazing wall of Power swept across the snow-covered yard.

He met it with his shield, grunting beneath the onslaught. The wall collapsed over him and he barely managed to expand the bowl to cover him in time to avoid being consumed.

Moran’s breath came in gasps as he watched the remnants seep into the earth. Were he a Shaper, he could gather and use those shreds against his foe, but his Power sprang from within him. As such, he had limits.

Goddess, but Beatrice was strong. One more attack like that and he was finished.

Unless he came up with a more powerful response. He reached deep inside, to the place that held his magick, and found there was no more Power in him.

At least none he could use. Locked away behind a door he dared not touch, darkness seethed. He felt it every minute of every day, testing the bonds he’d placed around it, seeking a way to escape, to sink into his soul.

If he were to die, he might as well loose that night-black threat on Beatrice before he went. Such a foul mage should have been no match for the magick he drew on, that of the Goddess. Possibly melding the darkness he carried with Her Power would forge a weapon that could pierce Beatrice’s shields.

The decision was made in less than an instant. He tore open the door and darkness poured forth. Exerting all his strength and discipline, he bent it to his will. Forging together both light and dark, he imbued the massive force with a need to prevail over dark magick at any cost. He formed a spear of energy and hurled it at Beatrice.

A missile of gray, equal parts shining white and matte black, flew across the clearing. His weapon expanded as it reached its victim, throwing out a glittering net of darkness that wrapped around the female mage.

Moran had one glimpse of Beatrice’s true face, distorted by terror, before the net contracted. Bits of her flesh bulged through tiny spaces in the tightening mesh before the entire mess burst into flame.

His weapon found more than just one target. Spinning shards of netting flashed past Beatrice to envelop her remaining servants, along with the tools and objects she had invested with evil. Shutters burst asunder, allowing the slivers access to the rooms inside. From within the manor house came cries of anguish and the sizzle of burning flesh. The structure itself burst into flames.

He steeled himself against pity. These were not innocent wretches caught in an unintended backlash. They were Beatrice’s willing accomplices. He knew she recruited mortals with an evil bent, for they were easier to control.

A tiny piece of gray
magick remained, whirling in the air without a target. Satisfied that every bit of her foul legacy had been destroyed, Moran smiled grimly. That smile changed to horror as he realized the only dark magick left lived within him. He had wrested the darkness from its prison, but there was more. Through the years of battling the shadows, a significant portion had become inevitably woven into the fabric of his being.

Loosing the darkness in his soul had won the battle with Beatrice, but at the cost of his life. He had little time to trace a warding spell before it struck.

Moran pushed himself to move onward, placing one foot in front of the other, and again. Agony lanced through his chest with each breath.

Somehow he had survived the attack of his own weapon, but he was sorely wounded. The combination of light and dark magick he used to defeat Beatrice crawled beneath his skin, seeking to destroy the part of him that was the very darkness he had made his life’s work to defeat.

In this, he had failed. Aye, he had prevailed in the battle, but at what cost? He had, in that desperate act, overcome a powerful black mage, but also destroyed one of the few warriors who served the Goddess.

He had no idea how long he’d forced himself to follow the snowy track. ‘Twas long enough for the fever to rise and bathe him in heat. Tossing back the hood of his cloak to bare his head to the chill wind provided a little relief. Occasionally the breeze would dislodge a clump of snow from the branches above to land on his head, where it melted and trickled down his face. He imagined it steamed in the frigid air.

His breath gusted white when he gingerly exhaled and grimaced. As the force he had sent against Beatrice worked to eradicate the darkness, he was losing his strength. Too much of him was the darkness. With each cough, he feared seeing blood on his hand.

At some point since the storm died, a wagon had come this way. Where there was a wagon, there would be people.

As if his thought summoned them, two small boys tumbled into sight before him like dice from a cup. They ceased fighting and quickly gained their feet, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Sir, are you ill?” one asked.

Were they a vision, brought on by the fever?

He blinked, looked beyond them, and realized he had come upon a village. Part of him noted that their snow-pocked garments were shabby but clean. Their anxious faces were healthy, not lean and pinched by hunger. Possibly he would find aid here.

The lads ran off. Possibly not.

Ahead of him, a handful of cottages lined a narrow street. Not much of a village. More of a settled crossroads. Just where was he? Behind, he’d left death and justice burning, cleansing a foul nest. Ahead lay…what? To survive, he required a skilled mage. He would find no such help in this tiny place.

Another step tore a gasp from his throat. The intake of breath escalated the agony in his chest. He coughed, unable to stop despite the wrenching pain.

He was barely aware of the boys’ return, with several men and someone who glowed like the sun. A woman. Nay, no woman burned with so bright a light. The Goddess. She caught him when his strength failed, cushioning his fall to the road.

This was the end. He would not die as he feared, alone, far from those he fought to protect. His last task was finished. Her cool, loving embrace surprised him, for he never expected to be forgiven his sins. He welcomed the cessation of pain as complete darkness descended.

At the last, he knew he had come home.

Chapter One

Enid stared down into the handsome face of the man in her arms. His body radiated too much heat and his skin was pale, his brow furrowed with pain. Young Piers and Ruddy had the right of it; he was indeed close to death. While she watched, the rise and fall of his chest paused. He moaned and resumed breathing.

“He’s a goner,” Alice said, adding, “Merry Yule.”

Enid ignored the sarcasm. Usually she found Alice’s sharp wit amusing, but today it grated on her. She handed the stranger over to the men and rose to head back toward the clustered cottages with her friend. “He might live. Burning with fever, though. I should have enough willow bark to see him through the night.”

Alice sniffed. “If not, yell out the door. I’ll send one of the girls over. You won’t be joining us for supper.” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “I’ll fill a bowl.”

“Many thanks. I’ll be too busy tending him to cook.”

“Mayhap he’ll live, and settle here.” Alice cast her a sidelong glance. “He is handsome, and you need a man.”

Enid sighed. ‘Twas the second year since her husband Daven had died. Time to think of marrying again, and her friend kept trying. There were few eligible men about. Having one literally fall into her lap was more than Alice could resist.

Tonight the rest of the village would be feasting and celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next. She had dreaded sitting again by herself at the loud, crowded table. Now she would labor to help a stranger instead of dwelling on happier times. An opportunity to avoid those sad thoughts was welcome. For that, she was grateful to both the ill man and the Goddess who delivered him to her care.

“Take him to my cottage,” she directed Ruddy’s
da. With luck, he’d survive the journey. If not, well, the risk that he would perish was still high. There were limits to her knowledge and abilities.

Should he die, she’d lay him out and help her neighbors see to his burial. She was no gifted mage to work wonders, even if today was Yule, a holy time of miracles.

Despite Alice’s speculation, she sensed the Goddess had handed her a challenge this year, not a gift. There were others in the village just as skilled with herbs and healing, but only she lived alone.

“Hurry,” she snapped at the boys. “Piers, bring more wood. Ruddy, fetch a bucket from the well. Full, mind you, no half-measures.”

“I’ll send a boy for leeches,” Alice offered.

“Nay, ‘tis not what he needs.” Enid hesitated to bleed him, for that would sap his strength far more than the pain and fever. “I’ll give him hot drinks and warmth.”

Alice laughed and grinned. “‘Tis only one sure way to warm a man, you know. And tonight, ‘tis tradition to fuck like rabbits.”

Enid had to smile in return. “I think he’s beyond fucking, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Alice snickered, called out, “I’ll send supper for you both—you’ll need to keep up your strength,” and waved as she turned down the alley to her back door.

Enid put her friend’s teasing aside and contemplated the tasks that lay before her. He would need to replenish his body’s fluids. Hot broth, simmered all morning for her noon meal, would ease his breathing. If he could swallow it. She’d make a hot herb poultice as well, and tuck it against his chest.

What ailed him? He’d had a coughing fit as they reached him that flushed his pale skin with fever. He looked to be young—not much older than she was—and strong but anyone, of any age, could succumb to a lung complaint.

He might have broken bones. Mayhap he had been set upon while traveling. Such would account for his painful cough, but shattered ribs often penetrated a lung. She winced at the thought and prayed that was not the case. Such an injury was beyond her ability to treat.

Their village was unworthy of that title, made up of no more than a score of families. They didn’t even have a smithy. For most needs, they had to travel. Even the proper towns nearby didn’t boast a mage.

She threw open the door to her small cottage and crossed to stir up the fire. Cold air swirled in behind her, lifting her hair and rising up the chimney in a sheaf of sparks.

The men carried the stranger in and laid him on her bed. As soon as they were free of their burden, they backed out, nodding and whispering hope for his swift recovery. By their glances and perfunctory words, they did not expect him to survive. She knew they would hasten from her cottage to the carpenter and have him begin a casket.

She gathered her meager supplies and turned to examine her patient. She should have asked the men to help her remove his clothing. His heavy cloak proved difficult to work out from under his limp form.

The quality of his garments was obvious as soon as she touched them. The woven wool was soft and thick, dyed in deep colors and tailored by an expert hand. The subtle plaid was marked as much by a cunning twill as by the changes in hue. At the folds of his elbows, the linen shirt remained clean, gleaming white. A man of means, then, to be clad in such fine cloth.

He filled her bed completely, his head on her pillow and his ankles on the foot. Although it had taken three grown men to carry him, she hadn’t expected him to be so large. And so male. The scent of him, musk and smoky maleness, surrounded her.

How handsome he was, even ill and in pain! His features made her ache to stroke that jaw, to kiss his firm lips. She shook herself from those thoughts. Daven, nearly two years in his grave, had had similar coloring, but not the strong character this man’s face and form showed. There was little resemblance to draw her attention.

Despite his being unconscious, the man’s presence filled her one-room home. She couldn’t believe he might die. His presence was too strong, too vital.

She sat beside him and began to wash his shaven cheeks, removing a layer of grime and—was that soot? She had smelled no smoke outside, but now the sharp odor rose from his wet garments. He had been in a large fire. Or fought one. Might that be what had injured him?

His clothes bore signs of a blaze. Holes from small cinders pocked his cloak and speckled the sleeves beneath. She picked up one of his large hands and turned it over. A network of fresh, angry burns overlaid the calluses and old scars. A man who worked, then, not an idle lord. She had to smile at that, for idle lords were so scarce she’d only heard rumors of men who had hands as soft as a weaver’s and no chores to occupy their time.

There were no homes for many miles in the direction he’d come. How far had he walked, growing ever weaker?

For the first time, she wondered if others might be in distress. When she was finished making him as comfortable as she could, she’d send some of the men to see.

Piers burst in, lugging an armload of firewood and followed by Ruddy bearing a full bucket of water. They jerked the door shut, cutting off the wind for the moment it took Piers to dump the logs near the hearth. Water slopped over the brim of the bucket as Ruddy set it down. She barely had time to ask them to have the men retrace the stranger’s path before they left in another chill blast.

Enid huffed in frustration. She shouldn’t have to deal with this on her own. Aye, she now lived alone, but there were other women who knew just as much as she did about herbs and illness. Why could they not help her care for this man, here in her home? But tomorrow was Yule and they had families to feed.

Once free of his heavy outer garments, her patient lay still and pale on her bed. Heat poured off him in waves. She debated the wisdom of feeding him broth and decided to attempt to get him to swallow. When he’d last eaten, she couldn’t guess.

She stirred powdered willow bark into the broth. If making him drink proved to be a struggle, she’d only have to do it once to get both into him. Willow would work to lower the fever and help dull whatever pained him. The rich stock would give him strength.

He drank without much coaxing on her part, a little dribbling out the corner of his mouth. She held him, supporting him with her shoulder and steadying the mug with her other hand. He swallowed and guzzled, quickly emptying the large cup. She took it and seized the opportunity to wrestle him out of the rest of his clothing. After a short struggle, she fetched a small knife and slit some of the seams. Repairing them would occupy her hands while she watched over him through the night. ‘Twas work of but a few minutes to pull the pieces out from under him.

With a sigh, he subsided onto the sheet. For a horrible moment she thought he’d stopped breathing, but nay, his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

She couldn’t resist touching him, running her hands over his bruised ribs and across his taut belly. A slight snore issued from his open mouth. Reassured that he was unaware of his surroundings or her presence, she peeked beneath his braes and caught her breath.

Oh, my. His cock was larger than she expected, even at rest. Her fingers itched to touch him, to be sure her eyes didn’t deceive her. An empty ache invaded her belly. It had been so long since she’d made love with Daven. So very long.

A knock at the door sounded. With a guilty start, Enid turned away to open the door. Darkness filled the lane. The longest night of the year was taking hold. Alice’s eldest daughter handed her a heavy bowl. A cloth protected its heaped contents from the chill. Savory aromas gusted in on the wind.

“Mam said you’ll not be joining us. There’s enough for you and him.” She jerked her chin toward the still form on Enid’s bed. With a saucy wink, she left.

Enid had not thrown the latch on the door. Had the girl arrived but a moment earlier and not knocked, Enid would have been mightily embarrassed. After a glance under the towel at heaped slices of roasted meat, dumplings and a few root vegetables topped with a loaf of fresh bread, she set the bowl aside. That would serve for later, once ‘twas clear if the man would live or die. She prepared broth for herself and sopped it up with a heel of old bread, keeping one eye on the large man in her bed.

The strings of his braes were knotted and she had to sit close while she worked them loose. The fever heat rolling off him warmed her past comfort. Or was it her awareness of him as a man? By the time she untangled the knot, sweat trickled between her breasts and heat pooled in her womb.

Shifting his weight to remove his last garment brought her too close. Each breath was filled with his scent. Each breath increased the ache in her belly.

When she pulled his braes down over his hips, the sight took her breath away. Handling him had brought her face within a hand’s span of his cock. ‘Twould be but a small motion to take him in her mouth…what would he taste like?

She chastised herself for thinking such thoughts. The man was dying. He needed healing care, not the mooning lust of a lonely widow. With brisk motions, she freed his legs and tucked the blankets back around his naked form.

She distracted herself by straightening the cottage and found herself handling his garments. The linen shirt was nearly dry. She rubbed at the soot on the sleeves and neck. This garment needed a good scrubbing in the stream as well as mending, but would suffice for him should he live.

His braes were twisted and wrinkled. The cloak was still damp but in good shape, made to face the wind and snow and dry without harm. She spread them out near the hearth and tried to keep her mind off the way his scent lingered, mingled with the odor of smoke.

Try as she might, her home was too small to ignore him for long. Every time she moved, she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. Every time he moved, she became aware of him all over again.

A small bit of embroidery inside his cloak snagged her attention. Sewn in matching thread, almost invisible, the roughness beneath her fingertip was the only way she noticed it. A rune. She ran her hand down the fabric and found more, a line of magickal signs that rimmed the entire garment. How curious. Her father had once had such a cloak, and her father was a mage. Was her guest a mage or a priest?

Moving the chair closer, she settled in to watch him and mend his shirt.

He appeared at rest. His face was more handsome than she had thought before she washed him clean. Dark hair, trimmed not long ago, framed his cheeks in loose waves. From the lines etched around his eyes and the grooves in his brow, he didn’t look like a man who had much pleasure in his life. Despite that, or mayhap because of it, she’d like to see him laugh.

The cloth warmed and dried, filling the cottage with his scent as she plied her needle and thread. For the first time in weeks, she felt keenly the fact that she spent much of her time alone.

She had no one to share a feast, to celebrate the holy day. And no one to make love with. The greatest gift of the Goddess was life, and she had always considered sex on the high holy days to be an essential part of worship. Most especially this holy day. From now on, nights would cease to grow longer and, as the cycle of the year turned, the length of the days would increase, making way for spring and summer to follow.

Her imagination roamed. Mayhap Alice’s flight of fancy was right. The Goddess would grant her a miracle and the stranger would recover overnight. What a marvelous gift that would be! And she could imagine so many ways to celebrate with him. She smiled in the firelight. He wouldn’t have to struggle back into his damp clothing, either.

Chapter Two

Hours later, she awoke with a start. The fire had burned down and she shivered in the cooling air. Hastening to build up the fire, she rubbed her arms. This would do her patient no good. Once the flames rose up around the logs, she crossed to lay a hand on his forehead and judge the state of his fever.

At her touch, he bolted upright and stared ahead with unseeing eyes. One of the warm stones rolled onto the floor with a thump. When she tucked it back close to his feet, he shuddered and cried out. She murmured comforting nonsense and coaxed him to lie back. He thrashed about, casting off the blankets.

Sweat streamed off his brow. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp, highlighting features etched with pain. His teeth clattered together with his violent trembling.

She had no more stones hot from the hearth to add to his bed. Every blanket and cloak she owned was piled atop him and still he shivered. There was naught else in the cottage to help warm him—except her body.

Not stopping to think, seeking only to ease his fevered state, Enid stripped in the chill and slipped in behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. Warming him would require as much skin-to-skin contact as she could achieve.

His flesh was clammy. Cold he might be, but his thighs were lean and strong. His buttocks were tight and high, nestled into her as though made to fit there against her belly. Under her hand, the planes of his abdomen were taut and muscular.

All the tension went out of him in a sigh. He relaxed.

Surrounded by his scent, very conscious of his warming flesh against her, Enid kept watch over him until she slept.

* * * * *

Moran awakened to warmth. The heat surrounding him was comforting, not blistering. He was out of the fire. That left him—where? He dimly remembered defeating his foe, and that the victory had taken every ounce of his strength. He’d even been forced to release the darkness in his soul, using every shred of Power he had to win the magickal battle. His successful effort had turned on him at the last, seeking to destroy him. He had become a Dark Mage himself.

And the shining woman of his vision had forgiven him. That moment grew and became clear in his mind, when the Goddess—for surely the glowing woman could be no other?—had taken him into Her arms and eased his pain.

He sighed deeply and the agony returned. He was not completely healed, then. No matter. He had survived worse injuries.

The draining of his Power was the most disturbing. Even now, when he reached inside himself for it, he found no response. No answering surge of Power tingled through him, not even a trickle. All he felt was a growing sexual urge.

His cock hardened. He became aware of softness pressed against him. Feminine softness.

His cock throbbed and he opened his eyes.

She was cradled in his arms, her warm ass snugged up against him holding his cock in a warm embrace. Tousled golden hair, lighter than honey, clung to his chin and obscured her face. Her left breast filled his hand.

For all he knew, this was a dream, and her body a reward for his service and constancy.

Great Goddess, what a gift!

His training and practice as a mage required celibacy to control his Power. Did this mean he was no longer bound by those strictures? The Goddess had led him here and placed him in this bed with a warm and no doubt willing woman. Who was he to gainsay Her wishes?

He cupped the woman’s plump breast, exploring the texture of her soft skin. A bounty of flesh filled his palm to perfection, as if made just for him. His finger brushed against her tight nipple and she drew in a quick breath, wriggling against him. His cock nestled between the cheeks of her ass, but that was not what he wanted. He wanted, nay, he needed to possess this woman, to pour his seed into her fertile womb.

That need threatened the foundation of his life. He had never encountered such a craving. He had desired women, aye, and wished to fuck, but never had this deep-seated longing to create life compelled him. Young voices from a distance, many of them running together, filled his head. The prospect of a child and that child’s children, a long line of his flesh and blood stretching into the future, called to him.

What if this was no dream? Possibly he was too ill to survive his injuries, and this was Her way of ensuring him a measure of immortality. Days ago, even hours ago, such would have been unimaginable. To a man sworn to celibacy for the sake of his battle against the darkness, this was a high reward.

The woman in his embrace moved her head and her sweet-smelling hair tickled his face. Unfamiliar emotion swept through him. With her, he had a chance to connect with one of those he was sworn to protect. With her, he had a chance to touch the Goddess.

An intriguing idea. He had mistaken her for the Goddess upon his arrival in this place. Perhaps he had not lost all his Power and saw her for what she was, the embodiment of the Goddess. He smiled into her silky locks and breathed in the heady fragrance. Lavender. A relaxing herb.

When she shifted her hips and ground against him, nothing about him relaxed. His hand tightened on her breast, wringing a soft moan from her. His cock throbbed with eagerness.

His choices were few. The odds of surviving his injuries were slim. He was either dreaming or he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, he could not turn down this Goddess-given chance to sow his seed for the future.

That She had also provided an opportunity for him to explore the pleasures of the flesh, so long denied, was not lost on him. She must hold his work in high regard to reward him so handsomely. He resolved not to fail Her in this as he had in his struggle against the shadows he carried.

He told himself he was trapped by the weight of the woman who would bear his children, refusing to acknowledge the truth. He was loath to release the wonderful softness of her breast. He slipped his other hand across the slight swell of her belly to delve into the curls between her thighs. A rush of moisture met his questing fingers. As he slid a finger into her slick cunt, she tilted her hips into his hand.

His finger sank into hot flesh that parted beneath his touch to draw him deeper. He explored her nested folds that hid woman’s wonders and mysteries. Creamy juices coated his hand. He wondered what they tasted like, and if he’d be granted the opportunity to learn all there was to know about lovemaking and slaking a woman’s hunger. In the back of his mind, he uttered a prayer that he might be worthy.

The motion of his arm moved the covers that blanketed them in a cocoon of warmth, releasing a breeze filled with the heady scent of her sex. Full-bodied, like rich wine or potent ale. Promising delight and a different kind of oblivion—with no headache come morning.

She shuddered at his touch, arching her back, pushing her breast into his hand. She was softness and goose down, curved and sinuous against his firm muscles. Her hair shifted across his chest and his breath hitched as lightning sensations rippled through him. Sweet Goddess, if her nipples were half as sensitive as his, ‘twas no wonder she squirmed and gasped in pleasure each time he brushed one.

He thumbed the tightly pearled peak within his reach, and grinned as a rush of liquid bathed his other hand. She moaned and pressed her legs together. One trapped finger encountered something firm hidden within her swollen folds. ‘Twas too tempting and he fought the pressure of her thighs to swirl her juices around it. She whimpered and pulled away from his hand.

Her movement brought the back of her wet slit into contact with his balls. He could stand no more. Urgency drove him to claim her. With a simple motion of his hips, he pulled back to rest the head of his cock at her entrance.

One word passed her lips in a soft plea. “Aye.”

He knew what to do, having witnessed couplings in his travels. He knew she should be wet and ready to receive him, and she was. He knew that one swift thrust would seat his cock fully within her.

Moran plunged into her wet heat. She pushed back against him and gasped. For an instant, her softness molded around his shaft. The sensation was akin to drawing on a well-worn and comfortable glove—until her muscles tightened, trapping him in an iron grip. Shock drove the breath from his lungs in a groan. To his amazement, his cock grew harder and swelled against the pressure.

He had not known ecstasy would flood him as he fought to withdraw and thrust deep again. He had not known how he would lose himself in the sensations, the scents and the sounds of their joining. Sweet Goddess, to think that this was what he had been missing!

‘Twas no wonder mages were sworn to celibacy. Had he known such ecstasy existed in fucking, he would never have had the discipline required to complete his studies and claim his full Power.

The pop and crackle of the hearth was lost beneath her breathless cries and the soft slap of flesh against flesh as he filled her cunt over and over. His breath came in shallow, ragged pants, as much from the scintillating sensations pouring through him as exertion and his weakened body. Despite the toll this took on him, he would not—or could not—stop.

She met him push for thrust, grinding the cheeks of her ass against his hips and pulling him ever deeper, until the sensitive head of his cock rasped across something deep within her cunt. At that touch, she arched her back and keened a wordless cry. She pulsed around him, driving his pleasure impossibly higher.

Another perfume mingled with the lavender of her hair. The earthy essence of woman, spiced with his own musky arousal, filled his head. He nuzzled her neck, finding sensitive flesh behind her ear to kiss and nip. She tipped her head and whimpered.

Time stilled as they gave and took pleasure. He became aware that his hands cupped her breasts, holding her close and playing with the hardened peaks of her nipples. With each tug, she jerked and shuddered around him, coaxing him to fuck her faster and harder.

The possessiveness he felt for this woman mixed with his desire and grew. She was his. He knew it in his bones, in his soul.

“Sweet Goddess!”

The cry was torn from both of them as she clenched around him, clasping him in an internal embrace that ripped something loose inside him. That release triggered the release of his seed, and he spurted again and again, filling her womb while the most marvelous sensations he’d ever felt coursed along his skin and settled into his heart. ‘Twas brighter than lightning, more powerful than a tornado. Even after he was drained dry, he continued thrusting while she gasped and shuddered, until he imagined his very soul had followed his seed into her keeping.

Enid rested in the stranger’s arms and floated on a cloud of wellbeing, thanking the Goddess for sending him to her door. How could she call him a stranger now, after the incredible pleasure they shared? He had given her a holy celebration worthy of Yule. She had thought his fucking would never end. To be so energetic in the wake of his illness was truly a miracle.

Oh, Goddess, his illness! She tried to pull away, to look at him, but he held her close.

“Nay, lie here. I am still cold.” He cleared his throat and coughed.

Enid waited as he hunched against the pain. She gripped his arms and tried to support his weight while he coughed. So, despite the strength he had just showed in fucking her, he was not completely well.

Finally, the fit subsided and he breathed more easily. “I am Moran. Will you tell me where I am, and how I came to be here?”

That was not what she’d expected. For some reason, mayhap her fanciful ideas of him being a Yule gift, she thought he might utter words of love.

While searching for coherent answers to his practical questions, it struck her that they’d fucked, but never kissed. How odd. They hadn’t known each other’s names, but she could very well bear his child come Samhain. The implications of what they’d shared made her suddenly shy and unsure.

She tensed as she answered him. “I am Enid. This is my cottage. You came from the west, stumbling through the snow. You were alone and gravely ill.”

“I am always alone.” The bald statement made her ache in shared loneliness. She, too, was always alone. “So, I came east. An odd choice.” His voice trailed off in thought.

She held her breath a moment before she dared speak. “You seem much stronger now.” ‘Twas true of her, as well. She felt as though their fucking had left her with greater vitality, beyond her normal vigor. Never one to lounge about, preferring to keep busy, Enid now felt as though she could sweep the house and chop wood for hours. Or fuck like a rabbit, as Alice had said. She stifled the urge to giggle.

“You have taken good care of me.” He tightened his grip on her breast. “Thank you. For your care of me, and for the use of your body. I have never felt such ecstasy.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “You are my first lover, little one.”

She blushed so furiously, she wondered he didn’t comment on the heat rising from her. “That cannot be! You knew just how to give me more pleasure than I believed possible.”

“I thought the same of you.” His cock hardened and leapt against her ass, ready for another round of the exquisite delights he’d shown her.

With her renewed strength, she was more than ready to give him access to her cunt again. She didn’t think that term “using her” was accurate, for how could he use her if she was just as eager as he? But his illness must make him vulnerable to overexertion. If she killed him, how could she live with herself?

“I have lived my life under vows to serve the Goddess, forbidden to indulge in sexual pleasure.”

He was a priest, then. An odd one, to be sure, if he served the Goddess chastely. “Oh, I am sorry! I made you break your vow!”

He chuckled, a husky sound that warmed her heart. She wished she could see him smile, but he still held her firmly tucked against his chest. “Do not fret, little one. My vows no longer bind me.”

“Where do you come from? What injured you?”

She’d pushed too far. He stilled and said, “Enough questions for now. I am tired.”

Chapter Three

A cry woke Enid. In the dim light of the banked fire, she found Moran hunched over, groaning in agony.

Hastening to light a candle—the wick took far too long to catch fire from a glowing coal—she flew back to his side. As she approached, she felt heat radiating off him from several feet away. He held one hand tight against his chest and struggled against a cough.

“Moran! What happened?”

He made no answer. When he opened his eyes, they were glazed. A trickle of blood ran from his mouth. Her heart plummeted. Her worst fears had come to pass. He was doomed to die. Tonight, and soon.

She sighed and helped him back onto the bed.

He waved aside her offer of more broth or water. She handed him a rag to mop up the blood that covered his hands when next he coughed.

At least it would be a quick death. She had tended Daven through a long decline and knew what a blessing a swift passing was.

The crack at the bottom of the shutter showed no light outside, so dawn was hours away. How long had she slept? She had no idea, nor did she know how long they had spent fucking in the night. She still tingled all over when she thought about that glorious Yule celebration.

So much for her dreams of having Moran overcome his illness and to be persuaded to stay.

The Goddess had a peculiar way of showing Her favor.

Mayhap this was Her gift to Moran. For the first time, Enid considered what this night meant to him. He claimed to have never made love to any woman, but he’d known exactly what to do. She had only lain with her husband before awakening to Moran’s caresses, and Daven’s
fumblings on their first time together had been nothing like the wondrous skill Moran possessed.

She could well be Moran’s reward for lifelong service to the Goddess. Unless she was a test for him—and since he had not resisted the temptation of her body, he must die. Nay, she could not think that. The Goddess was beneficent.

Speculation made her head ache as much as her heart did.

How had she come to care so for Moran? Was she deluding herself into believing she was falling in love, simply because she was tired of being alone? ‘Twas possible. She’d always been given to dreaming of better times and a better life. For the first time, she wondered if she wasted her time in such thoughts.

He had stumbled into her life only hours before and spent much of the time since then unconscious. They knew little of each other.

Nay, that was a lie. She knew him as well as she would ever know anyone. Somehow, in the dark hours of this night, she had looked into his soul, and he into hers. There was no other way to account for what she felt. He had become a part of her, as Daven never had been.

And now he was dying, struggling for each breath, fighting the urge to cough. ‘Twas as if she watched him fade before her eyes. A dark mist crept over his skin. She blinked and it disappeared.

Enid sat beside him and held his hand. When he relaxed, she mopped the sweat from his brow and the blood from his chin. Through it all, she held a tight rein on her emotions. ‘Twas the only way she could keep from drowning him in her tears.

* * * * *

Try as she might to control her grief, sobs escaped her tight throat as she filled a shining copper basin with warm water. She might as well finish preparing him for burial. Filled as she was with that unusual vigor, she was unlikely to return to sleep.

‘Twas not a good omen, to begin the new year with a burial. The old year had died, aye, but a birth was more suitable for the day after Yule.

A teardrop fell into the water, sending ripples across the surface to the rim of the bowl. The sight evoked a childhood memory.

What was the rhyme her mother chanted over water before she washed an injury—or a body, when she was about to prepare the dead for their final rest?

An old blessing, one her mother, and her mother’s mother and her mother before her, had said. Enid hadn’t thought of it in years. Without children to comfort, she’d had no need. Daven would have teased her without mercy, if ever he’d heard her chant something over a bowl of washing water.

May the Goddess, through my hand,

Ease your pain and help you mend.

May this water wash away

All the sins you bear today.

May this water evil ban;

Safety, virtue here command.

May this water pain dispel;

To every care you bid farewell.

May this water flesh restore;

Become whole and clean once more.

May the Goddess, through my hand,

Ease your pain and help you mend.

Each word reverberated inside her. She spoke as though she meant them, even as her mother had, before she bathed Enid’s scrapes and cuts. A tingle ran down her fingers to vibrate the bowl. The rippling pattern now went the other way, from the rim to the center.

Enid stared as though the water had turned into wood. Never had she seen—or heard of—such a response. A shiver ran through her body and she almost dropped the bowl.

Her emotions were getting the better of her. She was overwrought. The man she had thought she rescued had first given her unimaginable pleasure and then died. What she imagined she saw was doubtless a reaction to that.

She knelt beside Moran’s body on the hearth, wet a rag and began to wash him. She started at his feet. The soles, like his hands, were marked with signs of hard use. She rubbed the calluses with the cloth, wondering what kind of work he might have done, to gain the wealth indicated by his garments.

Were she to linger over every inch of him, she would not finish by Ostara.

Setting aside her curiosity, Enid traced the muscles of his leg, dipping and wringing the cloth as she needed. She paused when she reached his hip.

She could not bring herself to wash his cock. Was it wrong of her to wish him to sleep in his grave with a remembrance of their shared love? Such a thought made his death bearable. He had, at the last, experienced the most intimate of human pleasures. She should concentrate on that and ignore the pain of his death.

His hands fit into the basin, and she carefully worked the soot from the lines in his wrists. She picked up the basin again and frowned. The cloth had disappeared. She groped in the water and found it easily, but the water was far dirtier than it should have been.

Moran was obviously a man who bathed regularly. Where his clothing had shielded him from the soot and ash, his skin had been clean. Aye, and she had wiped his hands, face and neck clean earlier, while he was sweating with the fever.

There was no explanation for the filthy water or the black scum floating in the bowl.

She pitched it out the door and refilled the basin. Again, she recited the blessing. Again, she retraced the areas she’d washed and continued up his arms to his face. She examined the cloth as she worked—but it remained as light in color as when it began.

Again, the water darkened and a nasty-looking film accumulated on the surface.

Once more, she pitched it out into the night. Once more, she went through the ritual and this time, bathed him again, starting with his toes.

By the time she reached his hips, the water was only tinted with dirt. She washed his arms once more, and the water barely changed at all.

Holding his head up, she let his long hair fall into the water and massaged his scalp with her fingers. The water rapidly turned dark and scummy.

A fourth and then a fifth time, she emptied and refilled the basin. Each time, she blessed the water before she touched him with the cloth. She could see absolutely nothing that would account for the debris in the wash water.

In the ninth bowl, the water remained clear. She had washed every inch of him repeatedly. As might be expected, much of the filth came from his head, which had not been shielded from the soot and fire. What puzzled her was the repeated washing required to clean him from the waist up, particularly his upper chest and head. That skin had been covered by his garments.

She washed his face again, just to be certain she had done everything she could. Her fingers traced his lips. They had chatted a bit, and they had shared intense intimacy, but they had never kissed.

Without volition, she dipped her head and touched his lips with hers.

His mouth was warm beneath hers, and she lingered, tasting him. Her hearty broth remained on his lips, with a bitter hint of willow. Such a shame, that a man so strong and kind should die so young. She pulled a hairsbreadth away and sighed.

In that moment, something loosened deep inside her and flowed out with her breath.

He sucked it in.

“Sweet Goddess!” She stumbled back and fell to the floor. Eyes wide, she stared at his chest. Aye, he had drawn in a breath. As she watched, he gave a small, gurgling cough and inhaled again.

His eyelids fluttered and he stirred. Although his eyes did not open, he reached unerringly to grasp her hand. An unintelligible sound passed his lips. She leaned closer and made out his soft words. “Thank you, My Lady of Light.”

Silently, Enid shut her eyes and added her thanks to the Goddess. ‘Twas too soon to tell if this awakening was a reprieve or a true miracle, but she could not help but be delighted that Moran had regained his senses.

Nay, after more than an hour, he had returned from death.

He squeezed her hand. She looked and found him gazing up at her with wonder and adoration in his eyes.

“You glow like the moon, Lady.”

His reverent words left no doubt in her mind that he had confused her with the Goddess. She shook her head. “You are mistaken. I am but a normal woman.”

“Nay, you are far more.” His smile lit up his whole face. His gray eyes were clear and intelligent.

She palmed his forehead and found no trace of the fever. Oh, Goddess, he had a devastating smile.

“You have given me life.” He paused and his gaze turned inward. “And my magick has returned! Never label yourself normal, most beautiful and precious woman.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles.

He called her precious, and beautiful—and the import of his words struck her. He was no priest, but a mage! Embarrassment heated her cheeks.

She blurted out, “You are a mage!”

When she looked up, he met her gaze calmly. “Aye.”

“You should have been able to heal yourself. How did you come to be so ill?”

Chapter Four

Moran thought frantically to come up with words that didn’t hurt him to say. A mage’s strength lay as much in what others expected as what he could do. Often, a fight could be avoided by a strong reputation. His reputation was all he had at the moment. The tingle of Power coursed along his skin, but when he touched the source within him, he found only a weak trickle.

Yet he had shared much with this woman. She had taken him in. She had cared for him. She had shared her body, given generously of pleasure. For all of that, he owed her the truth.

“I drained too much Power in a battle.”

Her eyes widened. “Can you do that? I thought mages were invincible.”

“Nay.” He couldn’t prevent the quirk of his lips. She might take it as a sign of smugness and that bothered him. To the contrary, losing his Power had humbled him. “We can all be defeated. That’s what I do, track down those who abuse their Power and destroy them.”

The woman—Enid, if his memory could be trusted—sat down heavily in the single chair. He noticed now that the cottage was furnished with no more than the basics for one person. A small table. One chair. One wide pallet near the large hearth. There was no husband then, and no child in this woman’s life. Her lot must be hard, as a widow alone in this remote cluster of dwellings.

“No one values you? Have you no mate, no family?”

Her blush deepened. “Nay, I live alone since my man died. My father is a mage of some small skill. Our lord sent him away on business two years ago, and my mother chose to go with him.”

Moran nodded. “That explains your abilities.”

Enid shook her head. “I did not inherit his abilities. I wish I had, but I have not even a trace of magick within me. I have been tested and found wanting.”

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand in a caress. “I would argue that. There are many different forms of magick. The most powerful mages, warrior servants of the Goddess, are forbidden to indulge in sex. In some way, that is the base of our Power. Or so I was taught, and so I swore celibacy.”

She made a small sound of distress.

He placed a finger on her lips. “Do not fret, little one. My Power is mostly gone. Should the Goddess grant its return, I may become celibate once more. Although I am sore tempted to trade that Power for one such as you.”

A small smile played about her mouth. “I believe I would have the better part of that bargain.”

He touched her hair, smoothing it back from her face. Did she truly not know her worth? “Never underestimate the power of a woman. You wield far more than you know. You can take my breath away with but a glance.”

“Honeyed words,” she protested, but happiness glowed in her voice. She rubbed her cheek against his palm. Goddess, but her skin was soft. He frowned in confusion. What if he were forced to make that choice? Could he trade his life’s work for carnal pleasure? There was no question what his answer must be. He pulled away.

“No mage I have ever encountered, dark or light, man or woman, has been able to restore life.”

“I did nothing!” she protested. “I but recited a charm my mother used, when she would wash away my hurts as a child.” But she told him the particular words she had said over the water, and how it had become unwontedly black as she bathed him. “Could that have been the illness that plagued you, that somehow I cleansed more than your skin during the ritual washing?”

“I cannot say what happened, but that is possible. At least as possible as my dead body quickening under your kiss. Nay, whatever you may believe, you have been an instrument of the Goddess this night. When the need arises to do Her work, She does not choose those without some tie to Her through magick.” He paused and lay back against the pillow. “Possibly She led me east, knowing that you were here.”

Alone, waiting for him. Was he led to her for a reason other than his healing? The possessiveness that sprang to life during their midnight fucking still pulsed within him.

He watched her as she spoke of her life, her friends in the village, how they occupied their time during the winter season. Anything to keep her from thinking of her dead husband. Seeing sorrow creep into her eyes made his heart clench.

He wanted to wipe that from her, to protect her from disappointment. He might not have the Power he once did, but he could envision a future here, with Enid—as a mortal. Such had never entered his mind. He’d always thought he’d die without his mage’s abilities, but this slight blonde woman had given him reason to live.

She might not accept him, but there was something he could do to ease her life whether she did or no. Rising to his feet for the first time, he found his pouch, neatly wrapped in his belt. His dagger accompanied it. ‘Twas proof she was honest, but he’d expected no less. Unwrapping the bundle, he sought the heavy object at the bottom.

He drew a smaller pouch from within his larger one. It clinked as he tossed it on the pallet beside her.

“Here. I owe you compensation for my care.”

Enid stared at him. He paid no attention to his nakedness but she could not keep her eyes off his muscular form. With difficulty, she focused on his words. “What?”

“You healed my battle wounds. It is just that you should have this.”

She opened the pouch and spilled out a colorful stream of coins. He wagered it was more than the whole village had ever seen. “What of you?”

He shrugged. “I have no need for wealth.”

Understanding lit her face. “Thank you. I shall spend it wisely, I promise.”

He could not help but smile at her solemn declaration. “As you will. It is yours to do with as you wish.”

“Thank you. For this, and for the Yule celebration.”

“Nay, I must thank you for that. Or we must both thank the Goddess for bringing us together. I have never felt such pleasure.” He strove to explain his past in terms she could understand. She must, before he could secure his future. “I have been on quest after quest, pulled to fulfill my life’s work. When the Calling is upon me, all else falls aside.”

“I have heard of mages who work for no man. If such is your lot, then you must regain your strength and continue on your way.” Speaking the truth weighed down her spirits. She might have him for only a short time more.

“Aye. I may have found my next Calling.” He pulled her up from the pallet and gathered her against him. “The magick within me is a mere spark of what it was. In the days to come, I will see if it grows. From the feel of it, that will not happen.”

“But you are a mage. Does Power not always live within you? How can you lose it?”

“Once I was powerful beyond most mages, which is why I fought for the Goddess. But over time, the darkness began to consume me. Those who labor to rid the world of the threat posed by mages who have surrendered to the darkness must walk in the shadows, and they take on some of the dangerous qualities of those they hunt. My life was a constant war with myself, as well as the evil mages I destroyed, to hold the darkness at bay and keep my eyes riveted on the light.”

“What happened to you, that made you so ill and drained?”

“I sought a truly powerful evil mage. We sparred for months. Her minions tested my strength, chipping away at my defenses. I realized she toyed with me, as a cat with a mouse. I determined that she had led me astray, while she herself never moved from her lair. I tracked her by her magick, and came upon her in her manor stronghold. It lay west of here.

“During my drawn-out battle with her proxies, she had grown in Power. When cornered, she proved to be even stronger than I feared. I had no choice but to use every weapon I had or be destroyed. This required I free the darkness in my soul and mold it to my will.

“Darkness is dangerous and potent Power. With its aid, I defeated her. As you may know, all uses of magick come at a cost. I paid with my life.”

“But how did you come back from death?”

“That I wish I could answer. When I spent my seed, something happened to me. Too many emotions I have never felt rose within me, cascading through my heart and mind. I knew an outpouring of ecstasy, intense and unprecedented. At the time, having nothing with which to compare it, I simply was grateful to the Goddess for granting me a moment of bliss. Now, I wonder if that was more than the seed of my body. Possibly the seed of my magick was planted within you. Your heritage would indicate ‘twas fertile ground, where it took root and bloomed.”

“And I returned it to you in a kiss.”

“Aye, but it is not what it once was. Carefully tended and trained, the magick I knew had a long history of strong growth. What I find now is a different sort, more diffuse and misty. Less of a weapon.”

“Will you not be able to defeat the evil mages now? Have I cost you your livelihood, your reason for living?”

“Nay, my sweet, never think that. You have given me life. Without you, I would be cold and dead. Through you, the Goddess has given me a new life.”

She dared to voice softly, “I thought you might be a Yule gift from Her.”

His head jerked up, eyes sharp upon her. “‘Tis Yule?”

“Aye, ‘tis Yule. Had you forgotten the season?” How could a mage lose track of holy days?

“When I am on a quest, I do not mark the passage of time. I did not realize when you mentioned Yule celebration that today was Yule. You are my Yule gift, my love.” Moran swept her up into a kiss.

The same tingle invaded her that she had felt when he was dead, but nothing shifted from her to him. Instead, something beautiful blossomed deep inside her.

“Do you not need to eat, to regain your strength?”

His bright gaze met hers and she held her breath. “Might I have water?”

“Oh, forgive me, I did not think of your health.” She scrambled from the bed and caught up her linen gown.

He winked. “You might as well leave it off. ‘Twill save me the trouble of removing it again.”

The cold air prickled her skin into goosebumps. Enid hid a small smile as she fastened the laces. Daven had never played such games, and she found she liked Moran’s gentle teasing. She hastened to dip a ladleful from the bucket by the hearth. “You seem so much stronger.”

“Aye, but right now, my love, I need you more than food.” He drained the ladle in a gulp and grinned at her, the first time she’d seen him completely carefree. “I need to celebrate life and thank the Goddess, and the best way I can imagine that is with you. If you’ll let me.”

He pulled her back to sit beside him and rested his hand on the gentle swell of her belly. “I have no home, no family. My former life is lost to me and I must make a new one.” Tipping her chin up, he looked directly into her eyes. “I would build one here with you, if you will have me.”

His face wavered as tears obscured her vision. “I can think of nothing I’d like better. But what will you do for your livelihood?”

“I can teach you to use the Power you have gained, however strong it proves to be. I will find some way to be useful to this village. My back is strong. Surely there are times another pair of hands will be useful? I want to give you babies, children to fill a larger house and give us both gray hair. I will love you. I do love you.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear. “But know that if you agree, you will be stuck with me for life. Can you tolerate facing me across the supper table each evening and awakening in my arms every morning?”

She cocked her head and a smile slid onto her lips. “I believe that I must have a sample before I make such a momentous decision. Last night, pleasure was given me without a face or a name attached. Mayhap it could have been any man.”

He growled and clasped her against him, rubbing the bulge of his erection against her belly. “Any man, you say? Nay. You belong to me, and I to you. The Goddess brought us together and blessed our joining. Would you go against Her wishes?”

“I think you must prove to me that you are what you claim. If you can truly awaken magick in me, then I am yours.”

“Oh, my sweet, that I can and will do.” He shifted her off him, sliding to his knees beside her pallet. “One thing I must do as soon as possible is give you a proper bed. I cannot worship your body without the correct altar.”

“I think I will like living with you.” She helped him remove her gown. Seeing such ardor in his face, she found she could not be embarrassed. He almost devoured her with his gaze. The ties fell away and he pulled the halves of her bodice apart, baring her breasts. She could not afford a servant, so like all the women in the village, her laces were in the front. How convenient for him. Nay, for them both.

He merely looked upon her for a while, while his smile grew. When he met her eyes, his burned with desire. “You are perfect.” When she would have voiced a protest, he set one finger on her lips. “To me. For me. Do not argue. ‘Tis true. You are perfect in every way.” He leaned forward and gently kissed a nipple. A shot of excitement arrowed from his mouth to her belly. She gasped when he licked where he had kissed and let out a slow breath. The contrast of cold and heat tightened the nub into a hard peak. He ran his hand down from her shoulder to cup the weight of her other breast, running his thumb across that nipple in a soft caress.

Her breath hissed in as shivers rocked her. “Sweet Goddess!”

“Aye. As sweet as you.” He drew her nipple completely into his mouth and she arched against his kiss. His fingers worked her other breast, kneading and pinching and sending her spiraling into pleasure. A keening cry was torn from her throat when he scraped his teeth across the sensitive flesh.

His tongue soothed the tiny hurt. He drew back. “You are wearing too many clothes,” he complained. “Will you help me?”

“Aye,” she managed to push the syllable out of her trembling lungs. Breathing had become difficult to remember how to do.

Moran pushed the gown from her shoulders and down her hips. He lifted her legs and whipped the crumpled garment off the bed. She had no idea where he dropped it and cared even less, for he was parting her legs and stroking his warm hands along her inner thighs.

“Pay close attention.” He lifted one of her feet and set it on his shoulder.

Enid braced herself on her elbows to see what he was doing. Her eyes widened as he repeated the action with her other foot. Her cunt was totally open to his view. Her hips strove to close on their own.

“Nay, leave be. You are beautiful and I would see the most precious part of you. This,” he placed one palm on her curls, “is where all life begins. ‘Tis where I would begin our life together. I can think of no better way to worship the Goddess than to pay homage to her greatest blessing, that of childbirth.”

He surprised her by lowering his head and laying his cheek against her thigh. “Ah, the scent of you fills me with peace, woman. But I would have more.” With both hands, he parted the curls and touched the swollen flesh within. “You are so wet. I can almost see my child here, emerging from your womb.”

He lifted a glistening finger to his mouth and ran his tongue across the tip. He closed his eyes on a sigh. “Your taste is divine.” An impish look crept into his eyes and he winked. “I would drink from that most sacred of springs.”

Before she divined his meaning, he dipped his head and lapped up her juices. His tongue pushed into her as he licked, much like a small and flexible cock. When he reached the apex of the folds, he swirled the tip around her clit and she jerked. Her elbows no longer would support her and she fell back, to clutch at the covers and writhe against the hold he had on her hips. Little moans escaped her. He hummed against her slick folds and glittering pleasure rose within her. His tongue continued its exploration, seeking out every fold and delving deep into her cunt. He suckled at her clit and pleasure peaked in a shower of stars that sizzled everywhere they fell upon her skin.

“Did you feel any magick?” He climbed into the bedding beside her.

Enid roused herself and blinked up at him. “Aye, ‘twas magick indeed, but not what I expected.”

“There are many kinds of magick. Let me try another.” He straddled her with his arms, settling his hips above hers. Wetness glistened on his lips and he licked them, relishing the taste. “Your delicious cunt is wet and more than ready for my cock.” His mouth curved into a smug smile. “You must take worshipping the Goddess very seriously, possibly as seriously as I do. I am most fortunate to have found such a pious woman. I can see I will have to devote considerable time and effort to matching your devotion.”

With a very long stroke, he entered her, stretching and filling her passage to its limit. Tight from her recent orgasm, she felt each inch of his slow penetration. His eyes closed and his breath became fast and shallow. “‘Tis so hard not to thrust into you, like a bull rutting in a field. You feel so right.”

Mayhap was because he had never had another woman, but Enid wasn’t sure. In his arms, she fit better and felt more at home than she ever had in Daven’s. She had enjoyed marital relations with her husband but she believed she would find sheer bliss with Moran.

Lodged deep inside her, Moran paused. A spasm shook her.

“Look within. See if you can find the source of magick,” he directed. “‘Twill be a shining spark, glowing with the Goddess’ light.”

Enid closed her eyes and tried to separate out the varying sensations she was experiencing. ‘Twas not easy, with his cock filling her and his breath warm on her forehead.

“I feel a heat within my womb, and your cock stretching my cunt. I feel so blessed, but I can’t find any magick.” Tears sprang into her eyes.

“Nay, love, do not weep. All is well. You have lived your life so far believing that you could never own magick. It may take time to find the path to it.” He lowered on his elbows until his chest brushed her breasts. His hands came up to frame her face. “We will learn together. I know little about female magick, which is one reason my final battle cost me so much.”

Moran pressed a kiss on her nose. “Ofttimes revelations come when we least expect them. Relax, and enjoy being with me.”

She sniffled and smiled. “I think I can do that.”

“I hope so. I have years of celibacy to make up for—and a healthy curiosity.” He withdrew in another long, slow stroke before sliding back into her. “You must tell me which you prefer, slow or swift.”

Her smile grew. “I will require many examples before I can decide.”

He matched her expression with a grin. “Aye, my lady, I believe we are well suited.”

Four more slow pumps, and his hips gave way to a series of quick thrusts. She raised her legs and locked her ankles over his back. The changed angle drove him deeper and she sighed at the increased sensation.

“Aye, love, that is good,” Moran panted as he continued plunging into her cunt. Her hips rose to meet him, tilting and allowing his hard length to reach something that made her yelp with delight.

“But that is even better,” she declared. Her eyes widened as he hit the sensitive spot again and again, until she thought she might die of pleasure. She remembered to breathe and the feeling subsided—but only until he lowered his head to draw a nipple into his mouth.

She lost control as joy swept through her. A well of ecstatic desire, nay, two wells of desire poured sparkling delight into her. She filled up from her toes. Tingles marked the cresting pleasure that came from his mouth and his cock, until she could hold no more and her passion burst forth like a fountain.

She clenched around his cock again and again, wringing a cry from him that shook the rafters. His seed poured forth in a hot stream, filling her womb as his climax pulsed through them both.

He collapsed atop her and rolled to the side. “Next time, we will try slow and steady,” he panted.

“Unless we don’t like it,” she reminded him.

“Aye. Unless you don’t like it. I shall like it any way at all, so long as I am deep inside your sweet body.”

Chapter Five

Alice prattled on about the Yule celebration she’d missed, but Enid didn’t correct her. She wasn’t ready to share her happiness, so she nodded and lowered the bucket into the well.

Another voice snagged her attention.

The well lay behind the small tavern, sheltered to the north by a high wall along the road. The wind carried the sounds of a conversation to where she stood. Two men’s voices, one strange and one now familiar. Alice fell silent and they both listened.

“Moran, your presence is little more than a glowworm, where before you burned like a signal fire. I had not expected to find you so diminished,” the stranger rumbled in a deep timbre. “‘Tis a great loss. You were the best of us. None can fill your boots.”

“You flatter me, Stefan. One will step forward, I am certain.” Moran’s confidence rang in the words.

Enid smiled in satisfaction. He would be missed, but wasn’t irreplaceable.

“I’m sorry you have chosen this.”

“Do you think I would turn my back on what has been my life’s work, knowing how important it is? Never believe this was my choice.”

The sadness and regret in Moran’s voice tore at Enid’s heart. Hearing it, she knew she had no choice. She would have to let him go. She would help him regain his Power and send him on his way. No matter what it cost her.

She turned and met Alice’s horrified expression. For once, her friend was struck silent. The pain in Enid’s heart overflowed, filling her eyes with tears. Blindly, she groped for the bucket, brushed aside Alice’s outstretched hand and somehow stumbled home.

“‘Tis sad to see you laid so low,” Stefan continued. “I pity you, Moran.”

“Do not. I have served the Goddess my whole life, and we both know Her actions are often incomprehensible. I am well content to walk the path She has shown me.”

Stefan cocked his head as if listening. For a moment, the two of them stood in silence but for the groaning of the pump rope and an occasional birdcall. “‘Tis another Calling. I must bid you farewell.” He took up the reins. “If you can, ward this place. Many among our enemies would seek you out, especially those with old scores to settle.” Stefan hauled himself up into the saddle, turning the bay. “In general, our kind does not survive to be turned out to pasture when our work is done.”

“Aye, I am aware of that, and grateful for the reminder.”

Stefan lifted a hand in farewell and rode east, without looking back.

Moran watched him go with a light heart. He had spoken the truth. He felt at peace and sensed he would find happiness with Enid.

He tucked a pouch of coins into his belt. Stefan had also received the Call to fight Beatrice but arrived too late. The battle was over by the time he arrived, so he gathered everything of value left in the ruins. Moran had insisted Stefan keep half, for a mage on the road had need of wealth. Far more than he had now, in a tiny village. Even with a woman he planned to wed, his needs would be modest.

As he hoped, the trickle of magick he felt bubbling beneath his skin was sufficient to establish wards around the entire cluster of houses. No need to endanger those who helped him. He set the spell to alert him should anyone with Power approach the area, and turned for home.

Home. That had a lovely, warm sound to it.

Home. Where Enid waited, with her soft skin and fragrant hair. His woman.

The coins jingled in the purse as he walked. Ah, he remembered now. Before he saw Stefan, he had left the cottage on an errand and not completed it.

Enid waited for Moran, pacing. Alice’s supper from the night before steamed in a pan by the fire, filling the air with mouth-watering aromas. She’d dried her tears and come to terms with losing Moran. He would not see her blubbering like a child.

What had made her think that she might be blessed with happiness? A pox on Alice for putting that notion into her head. Loneliness had been her companion for too long. She’d lost first her parents and then Daven.

‘Twas the way of the world. People lived, they moved on, and they died. Moran had taken the opposite course, dying first and then living. Mayhap that had fooled her into believing he might remain with her.

He would leave. She believed the emotion in his voice when he spoke to his friend more readily than his words to her. Promises made in bed were always suspect, as Alice told her daughters.

No mage would turn his back on the immense Power Moran had wielded. Especially not for life in a tiny, poor settlement, sharing a hovel with the likes of her.

How had he wormed his way into her heart so quickly? After only a few hours with him, she could no longer imagine living alone. She’d rediscover it soon enough.

The latch lifted and Moran stepped inside, accompanied by a gust of cold air. “It smells like we’ll have more snow.” He stamped his feet to dislodge clumps of mud.

She could only stare. His long dark hair, a little damp, curled around his shoulders in slight waves. Oh, she prayed she carried his child, or would before he left. She would love to have a daughter with his hair. Her knees gave way and she sank into the chair.

His mouth, once set in grim lines, now curved up at the corners as he crossed to kneel before her. How devastating their son would be, with such a smile.

“I have news for you,” he began.

She forestalled him with a finger across his lips. “Not yet. I would eat first.”

“But ‘tis—”

She cut him off, clapping her hand over his mouth. “I heard you speak with your friend. I know what you’re going to say.”

“I didn’t mention it to him.” He grinned. “You’re wrong. You can’t possibly know.”

“And you find humor in this?” She leapt to her feet, not bothering to hide her dismay and hurt at his amusement. Facing him, she planted one fist on her hip and pointed to the door. “Go. Now.”

His grin fled. He stared at her, open-mouthed, like a fish. “What?”

“Did you think to coax your way into my bed, have me play at being your wife until your magick returned? Abandoning me and whatever child I might carry? I will not be used and cast aside in such a manner.”

He made no move toward the door. Indeed, he remained on his knees, before the empty chair. His mouth worked soundlessly. A muscle beside his left eye twitched.

In the face of his obvious confusion, she began to feel a bit foolish.

Mayhap she had been hasty—and wrong. She had been home long enough to heat supper, cry her eyes out and punch down the bread before he arrived. Much could have happened in that time.

Hope welled up, mingled with embarrassment—she felt more foolish every minute he stared at her in disbelief. Oh, sweet Goddess, had she ruined any chance she had for happiness with him?

“So.” Not quite knowing what to do but determined to salvage at least her equilibrium, she smoothed her skirt. “Well.” Seating herself before him, she swallowed the lump in her throat, stilled the trembling of her hands and took a deep breath. “Mayhap I jumped to conclusions and we should start over.” Despite her outward composure, her pulse thumped like a galloping horse. “What were you going to tell me?”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “I have no idea what you thought, but I agree. Let us begin again.” He took her hands in his. “Stefan followed me here, with a purse gathered from the ruins of Beatrice’s manor. This gives us plenty, far more than we need.”

Her heart leapt at his use of the word “us” and hope blossomed. His warm fingers tightened around hers.

“I visited a few of our neighbors and introduced myself. I will have a better Yule gift for you in a fortnight but I found a small one for you now. We will make do until the other is ready.”

Pleasure flushed her cheeks and she burst out, “You are staying!”

“Of course, my sweet. If you’ll have me. ‘Tis your decision. I have made mine—I wish to remain with you.” Moran dropped her hands to cup her face between his palms.

“I want you, too.” Her fears tumbled out on a rush of words. “I thought you did not want to be here, that you missed your old life.”

Adoration shone in his eyes. “How could I leave my Lady of Light? You are the best gift the Goddess could ever give me.” With his thumb, he brushed away a tear on her cheek. “Why do you weep?”

“‘Tis from joy, not pain.” She smiled through her tears, but couldn’t stop the flow.

“Ah. I see you have a lot of joy.” He chuckled. “So do I.” With a swift movement, he rose, pulled her up after him and swung her around. He set her down but didn’t let go, his hard cock pressing against her.

“And do you weep?” She reached down and palmed his erection, rubbing slowly, until he growled deep in his throat.

“Aye. Keep that up and I shall do more than weep.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He backed her against the small table. Pushing between her thighs, he thrust his hips forward until the bulk of her skirt shifted to the sides. She parted her legs willingly, reveling in the sensation of his hard cock parting her cunt lips, teasing her through the thin layers of wool and linen barring the way.

Moran paused, his mouth hovering an inch above hers. His scent surrounded her, potent and masculine. “Never doubt that you are my one and only love.” His lips met hers, and he proved that claim—with a searing kiss and his mastery of a different kind of power, one that weakened her knees and tightened her nipples. Shivers danced across her skin.

Had not the table supported her, she would have fallen. Instead, she lay back, wrapping her legs around him. He pressed into her harder and she tilted her hips to rub his hard shaft just where she wanted.

With a groan, he bent over her. His teeth found a nipple through the layers of her clothing, bit gently and tugged.

Streaks of fire sizzled from her breast to her womb and back again. Her breath caught in her throat. “Aye, like that,” came her breathy encouragement.

‘Twas all he needed. He gently tortured her with his mouth until she whimpered and tried to push him away. The tender assault on her breasts continued, joined by his hands, which found their way beneath her hem to caress her thighs before rising higher, to part and delve into her soft curls. He thrust several fingers deep into her cunt, stroking the sides of her channel, touching places she hadn’t known existed. She fisted her hands in his hair to anchor herself. The maelstrom of sensations sparked by his teeth and touch threatened to overwhelm her.

“You are so beautiful.” He raised his head.

She could fall into those dark eyes and drown. She dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him, staking her claim just as he had moments earlier. Moving her hips, she guided his touch but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him filling her. A need grew, for him to possess her fully.

He pulled his mouth from hers. His eyes were glazed with desire. She began to understand the power she possessed. Not the same as his, but power nonetheless.

His breath was hot on her cheek. “I want to sink my cock into your wet heat, lovely Enid. I want to ride you until you scream and squeeze my seed from me with your tight, sweet cunt.”

‘Twas the same image that filled her mind. “Oh, aye, please do,” she breathed.

They each wielded their own kind of power. His low, husky whisper alone sent her halfway to completion.

“You pleasure me as no other has, as no other can,” she whispered.

Moran fumbled with her garments, finally hitching her skirt above her waist. She tore at his laces impatiently. Would his cock never be free of its confinement?

He stood long enough to shed his braes. Catching her gaze and holding it with his, he stroked his hands down her thighs. The tip of his cock nudged her curls. Taking his cock in his hand, he circled the tip around her clit. Once, then again.

She closed her eyes and whimpered. “More!”

He circled once more, and rubbed the tip down her cleft, parting her plump lips. She jerked her hips, urging him into her. He increased the pressure, slowly, too slowly, First the engorged head of his cock passed inside, stretching and filling her a little bit at a time. Glittering promises of ecstasy shimmered through her, making the hair on her arms rise. She thought he would never finish as he slowly pressed home. She beat on his lower back with her heels, encouraging him to hurry.

“Nay, I promised you slow, sweet Enid. Do you not like this?”

She could only gasp in answer.

He chuckled and began to pull out just as slowly. “I think you like it too much. You have no idea how much I like this, seeing your inner pink lips separated around my cock, pulling outward in a pouting kiss, as if your cunt is loath to let me withdraw. Do you want me to fill you again?”

“Aye.” Her breath came shallow and quick. “If you will.”

“Have no doubt, my love.” He unlaced her bodice and guided her hands to her breasts. “Touch yourself, for me.”

She stared at him. Touch herself?

“Aye, you must know what feels best. Give yourself pleasure, while I do the same. Touch yourself for me,” he repeated.

Warily, eyeing him for any sign he was jesting, she began to massage her breasts. Her finger rubbed over her nipple and a streak of delight shot through her.

He nodded and smiled at her gasp of pleasure. He reached back to grasp her ankles and lifted her feet to his shoulders. “You have no need to hurry me. I am as eager as you.”

With a jerk of his hips, he thrust his cock deep into her, filling her completely. His balls slapped against her ass. He withdrew and thrust again. She tightened her muscles, grasping him firmly. Each thrust sent her closer to the edge of that precipice.

“I can see every part of you, as we are joined in that most intimate and holy of unions. You have no idea how beautiful you are at this moment. Offering yourself, pleasuring yourself, accepting my worship, you are the embodiment of the Goddess. I love you, Enid. I pledge my life to you.”

She tossed her head back and forth, moaning his name.

Her climax began with shivers that squeezed his cock like a fist. As he continued to plunge into her tightening channel, the force of her climax brought stars before her eyes. The celestial vision spread in waves of joy, tingling down her spine and curling her toes. She cried out as the wave crested, sending her senses reeling. Her spasming
cunt milked the last of his seed from him as he collapsed atop her.

“You wished to know all the reasons to let me stay. ‘Twill require least a fortnight, possibly more, to show you every one.” He gently kissed her brow.

“I look forward to learning all of those reasons.”

“I will fill your days and nights with them. But before that, my first Yule gift to you.” He pulled up his braes and crossed to the door. Stepping outside, he returned with a snow-covered chair.

He thumped it on the doorjamb and a shower of snow fell way, revealing the seat.

‘Twas a mate to the one she had.

“A home needs two chairs,” he declared. “And there will be more, for our sons and daughters, should the Goddess bless us further.”

He placed the chair at the table. “We will need a larger place to eat, too. But that’s all in the future. Our future. Provided you keep me.”

His eyes promised many, many reasons to let him stay.

The End

About the Author

Liddy Midnight lives, loves, works and writes in the woods of eastern Pennsylvania, surrounded by lush greenery and wildlife. Although raccoons, possums, skunks and the occasional fox eat the cat food on her back porch, she's no more than half an hour from some of the finest shopping in the country. Situated in this best of all possible worlds, how could she write anything other than romance?

Liddy welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Liddy Midnight

Ellora’s Cavemen: Dreams of the Oasis I anthology

Fire and Ice

In Moonlight anthology

Rogues with Cricket Starr

Small Magick

Transformations anthology

By Liddy Midnight writing as Annalise

Equinox II anthology

Venus Rising

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com

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